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City Pluming

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A city so silent, no youth on the streets
No footsteps on pavement, no loved ones to seek
No cars on the cracked road, Yet fires to stoke
And up in the fogged sky; a field of smoke
These children have no time for other affairs
Since feeding their flame is their exclusive care
As Mummy has told them, the world will grow cold
Without their wee hands to shovel wood and coal
Though the fuel has grown sparse, still for fuel groans the fire,
And soon the wood planks may end up being pyre
And yes, as suspected - but slowly at first
The tykes understand how to finish their work
A deep breath of smog, and a tipping of toes
The chimneys spew out ash that once formed as bones
A heat as intense as hell blasted the land
As the souls of those children were peaceful at last